


Vibing

by Nemainofthewater



Series: dragon!Jaskier [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: April Fool's Fic, Don't copy to another site, Drugs, Fluff, Gen, Humour, Jaskier's ongoing saga of eating strange plants, Pre-Slash, dragon!Jaskier, if catnip can be considered drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23427139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: In Jaskier’s defence, how was he supposed to know that it wasn’t mint?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: dragon!Jaskier [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623493
Comments: 136
Kudos: 1271





	Vibing

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of fun for April Fool's Day! This takes place both after Shining, and also after the hypothetical sequel to Shining that I've been meaning to write.  
> CW for drug use

He finds the plant as he’s wandering through the cavern, humming to himself and strumming his lute, and gods is it good to have fingers back again! Three weeks and he still hasn’t got over the novelty, clinging to his lute like a lover, curling himself around it at every opportunity.

His stone is warm and soothing against his chest, still safe and secure in the little blue pouch that Ciri made for him. It still feels like family, but expanded. More. Not just his mother and father but all of them, his other father and his sister; Téa and Véa; Ciri and Yennefer; Geralt… all of them who had given some of their blood, a part of themselves to recast the enchantment on his stone.

He’s only allowed to use the enchantment for an hour or so a day, because his father- and months later he still can’t stop the smile- doesn’t want him to become dependent on its magic to change form. Which, ok, yes, fine, that makes sense. In the long term, it means that he won’t have to rely on his stone to maintain human form, means that he won’t be forced into another reversion to his natural form is he loses it, or it gets stolen-

It makes a lot of sense in the long term. But, and Jaskier knows exactly how it sounds, but he wants to play his lute _now._ Not in however long it takes him to figure out the complete transformation, but now. He’s missed her. And, frankly, it’s a good thing that she’s somewhat magical because he’s worried about the amount of moisture in the air cracking the wood. Though, if he’s honest, the fact that his lute has survived two decades of wading through marshes, being used as an impromptu weapon against the various monsters of both the human and non-human variety, and countless nights being used as a pillow, then it's unlikely that a bit of moisture will cause it any significant damage. A definite point in favour of the whole ‘Filavandrel’s lute is magical’, though if one were enchanting a lute, one would think that the enchanters would figure out a way to avoid having to tune the damn thing so often.

(No, that’s a lie, he loves tuning his lute. With his _hands_ with have opposable thumbs! And no claws! And are large enough to properly cover the fretboard! Tuning is amazing, tuning is the best, the only thing better than tuning is actually _playing_ ).

In any case, since he’s limited in the amount of time he’s able to practice, he’s decided that he’ll only practice the lute when the others are out- he wants to surprise them! Give them a proper concert! Show off the fact that he’s managed to compose quite a few new songs over the winter they spent together, all of them safely preserved in one of his notebooks, thanks to Ciri’s help and the use of her opposable thumbs. And it is incredibly hard to come up with a surprise concert when they all live together, and the majority of his family have enhanced senses. Hence the whole practicing while they’re all out thing. Well, all of them except Roach because apparently, he can’t be ‘trusted without supervision’. Just because he got kidnapped a few times! It could happen to anyone! Not that he’s casting aspersions on Roach and her supervisory skills; Roach truly is the best of them all and he bows down before her. But still. He doesn’t see _Geralt_ having to have a babysitter, and he’s got into way more trouble than Jaskier!

Saskia, someone who _definitely_ needs a babysitter, and one who doesn’t succumb to her large, pleading eyes, is out with Téa. They’re probably working on hunting a bit more; either that or she’s being given an in-depth lesson on the political alliances of the Northern Kingdoms while searching for early spring flowers. Jaskier has no idea how much of the lectures she’s actually taking in, mind. The fact that Téa enjoys illustrating some of the most famous battles with various foodstuffs (and sometimes explosives) can’t hurt, though.

Geralt is out on a hunt with Borch- a more mundane hunt, that is. Hunting animals instead of monsters, though half the time they go out ‘hunting’ they come back hours later, slightly tipsy with very little food and, in Geralt’s case, the uncomfortable mien of a man who has been asked to do a lot of soul searching. Yennefer, entirely cognisant of that fact, has stolen Ciri and Véa for the day and they are in Novigrad doing some ‘hunting’ of their own. It’s always a toss-up as to whether they’ll return with some rare tomes, a new hunting knife, or an injured bird. Though, to be fair to Ciri, the amount of injured birds has sharply declined once she realised that Saskia (and maybe sometimes if they were extra fluttery Jaskier himself) found them irresistible to play with and pounce on. They’re so fluttery! And fun to catch! And they’re both predators, with a predator’s instincts. It’s not their fault!

Nonetheless, the injured birds have stopped coming. Not that Jaskier thinks that Ciri has stopped saving them! No, he just thinks that she’s getting Yennefer to portal her to Cintra and dropping them off with Mousesack.

It’s while he’s contemplating visiting Mousesack, and whether it would be better to do so in his human or draconic form, that he smells it. Something _beautiful._ Like the scent of freshly cut grass, speckled with dew in the early morning. There are hints of mint and the faintest whiff of lemon, and he doesn’t know what it is about that combination, but it’s intoxicating.

He sets his lute carefully down against the cave wall and follows his nose to the back of the great sunlit cavern. There’s a canvas bag, filled with dried leaves, so carefully placed in a small crevasse in the wall, that it’s hard to see it. Next to it, dark soil spilling out, sits a small plant, its cheerful green contrasting nicely with the dark brown of its pot. The pot is on its side, one of the leaves slightly crushed, and that’s probably where the smell is coming from. The plant looks like mint, just- so much better. Maybe that’s just what mint smells like now? He hasn’t really encountered any yet, since gaining his superior sense of smell- for all he knows mint just smells like this all the time and he hasn’t noticed.

He steps closer and reaches out to rub a leaf between his fingers; its flesh bruises easily, and more of that scent is released. He inhales happily. Oh. Oh, that is beautiful. And- possibly just the thing for a sore throat! A good mint tisane with honey has helped him through many a post-performance slump, and it’s always good practice to treat one’s instrument well, whether it be his lute or his voice. He doesn’t have any honey, but he can at least treat himself to some nice mint tea.

There’s a set of clay cups at the back of the cave, the clay harvested by Geralt, shaped by Ciri, painted by Yennefer, and fired with his own flame; they are pretty lopsided and had been one of many craft projects throughout the winter, but they also hold liquid very well. It only takes a few minutes for him to grab a couple, filling one with fresh water and the other with some of the leaves. Now- the tricky part. He’s not technically supposed to switch between forms too often, and definitely not for something as trivial as heating water when there’s a perfectly good fire but- it’ll be quicker. And he wants his tea _now._

He sets the two cups down on the floor- he doesn’t want to break them!-, glances around to make sure that Ciri hasn’t returned early, and neatly removes his clothes. Yennefer, the only one he trusts to have any idea of fashion whatsoever, had bought them for him, and he doesn’t want to damage them, even accidentally. Then he sits down and carefully removes his stone from its pouch. Without letting go of it, he places it on top of his clothes and then- taking a deep breath- lets go.

The transformation- it’s getting easier. It doesn’t _hurt_ , not like that first time, though Borch (father!!) told him that if he stays human for too long without changing back that it might become more painful. Now though- the strangest thing about it is that is _doesn’t_ hurt and it ought to, to go from a full-grown human to a small dragon. Where does all the extra mass go? He’s heard Geralt talk about Dopplers, how they can only transform into things that have the same mass (and gods, Jaskier was utterly delighted once he discovered what a nerd Geralt is) so- how does his own transformation work? He asked Yennefer, once, on the assumption that she might know the answer and she’d started talking about ‘liminal space’ and ‘pocket dimensions’ and mathematical concepts so complicated that they had made his brain shut itself off after a half minute or so of listening…

Well, whatever actually happens, and Jaskier accepts that he will probably never know, the transformation is disturbingly easy and in no time at all he’s blinking around at a much larger world. A larger world and- oh Melitele, the mint smells _even better_. How is that possible? He moves over to the cup filled with leaves and sticks his face into it, breathing deeply. _Yes._

Before he can help himself, his tongue has flicked out and oh, it tastes just as good as it smells. All the leaves are gone, and he whines softly, wondering how hard it would be to fly up to the crevasse in the wall and eat a few more leaves. Just a few more.

He feels- he feels nice. The world has gone soft at the edges, blurry and somehow muted. He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, in blissful contemplation of the odour, the taste, the smooth finish of the cup against his cheek. Eventually, he realises that the waterfall is loud, louder than usual and huh- he’s thirsty. He’s so thirsty! He has to drink something, he needs to.

Oh! There’s water, he got water! He purrs in content because yes! What a good decision he made! What forethought! What a good strategist he is-

Oh. His head is stuck. Damn. He whines, trying to move backwards. The cup moves with him, his snout firmly entrenched. Nooooo. How is he supposed to drink his water like this? Maybe he can smash it against the ground? Against a stone? But- but then he will have smashed a cup, and Ciri will be sad, and he doesn’t want Ciri to be sad. Sighing, he flops onto his back, carefully avoiding the floor. It looks like he’s doomed to stay here for the rest of his days, unable to eat, to drink- wasting away until nothing is left of him but his corpse-

His ears prick up. He can feel his father! And Geralt! They’re approaching, coming back into range, and he can feel them, feel them in his head and heart and they haven’t abandoned him! He isn’t going to die, alone and _thirsty_ on the floor! He scrambles to his feet- and wow, there’s definitely something up with the world today because it appears to be tilting to the side- and then he bounds forward, throwing himself toward his family.

_Father!_ He calls out, _Geralt!_ He could, he could definitely shape his throat so that he could speak out loud, he could! Only he can’t quite think on how to do it at the moment.

“What-?”

It doesn’t feel like he’s moved anywhere, but all of a sudden he snuggling against Geralt’s chest, nuzzling his neck- unsuccessfully, actually as that becursed cup is still there! Maybe it’s magic? A magic cup!

“Jaskier, what are you doing?”

Geralt sounds utterly bemused, but his hands are gentle as he stills Jaskier’s affectionate movements and- infuriatingly easily- manages to remove the cup from his snout. He frowns down at him, and Jaskier stares straight into the Witcher’s eyes and confirms that _yes_ he was right! They are the most astonishing shade of gold. Incomparable. Beautiful. Only-

_Geralt!_ he says, _Geralt, look! My scales match your eyes! We match, Geralt!_

Geralt frowns, and Jaskier can feel his mind reaching out, trying to grasp the meaning of his words. The Witcher has been training with Téa and Véa in the evenings, trying to get better at mind-speak- and Jaskier loves him _so much_ because of course he is! He’s such a good man, Geralt is, a good man indeed. And he’ll fight anyone who dares to suggest otherwise.

“Slow down,” Geralt rumbles. “You’re talking too quickly, I can’t understand you.”

“Oh, Julian,” father says, but Jaskier can feel the amusement and love in his mind and he trills. Throws himself off Geralt and at Borch, forgetting to extend his wings- but it’s fine! It’s fine because father catches him, gently, in his mouth, scuffing him and placing him on the floor. He hums in contentment and stretches out on his back, glancing coyly up at his family, hoping that one of them will scratch his stomach. Because that’s what he needs- forget thirst! He could go a thousand years without water- he’s strong! No, what he really needs is someone to scratch his scales. He might actually, literally, die if someone doesn’t do so _now,_ immediately, and he lets them both know.

“Have you eaten something that you oughtn’t, by any chance?” father asks and yes! All thoughts of stomach scratches flee his head, and he sits up again, only swaying slightly from the abrupt movement, because they have to look at the mint! The mint is the best mint, the tastiest mint, who knew that mint could taste that good? They need to try it!

“I believe I know what’s happened,” father says, but Jaskier isn’t paying too much attention, because Geralt is sat next to him and is stroking that one spot between his wings, and he is melting. Mmmm. He must have gained control of his shapeshifting abilities, because he’s fairly certain that he’s transformed into a puddle. A blissful, blissful, puddle.

He maybe misses something (but who can blame him? Geralt gives the _best_ back rubs) because the next thing he knows, Geralt is lifting him in his arms- and his protests die half formed because _oh._ Like this he can nuzzle into Geralt’s neck and study his hair, and it’s so shiny, has it always been that shiny-

Then they’re sitting in the nest of pillows and bedrolls that he and Ciri had constructed in their first week and never got around to dismantling (it’s comfier! This way they can all snuggle!) and he’s curled around a pillow that is infinitely less comfortable than Geralt. Hmph. When did that happen?

“Don’t sulk,” Geralt says. “I’m just removing my armour.”

No. Unfair! That’ll take _hours_ , so long, too long. He whines and looks up at Geralt, sadness permeating his body, blue eyes large and luminous. Geralt sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “But when the catnip wears off, you’re not allowed to complain about the smell.”

He wouldn’t! He loves the way that Geralt smells, has maybe memorised it, could pick it out from a crowd of thousands! He tries to convey as much, shoving his emotions at the Witcher as his words seem to have failed him.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Geralt says, but then he does sit down, and Jaskier climbs back onto his lap. He stretches and just- revels in the feel of Geralt’s mind.

“Once you’re lucid, we’re going to have a long talk about eating strange plants,” Geralt says, but Jaskier ignores him. Because he’s safe and warm and he has his family- and his Witcher!- and any talks are blissfully far in the future.

And so, he closes his eyes and decides that for the next few hours- all he has to do is _be._

**Author's Note:**

> Catnip is actually part of the mint tribe! So Jaskier isn’t as far off as one might think! I wrote a lot of the scenes of Jaskier on catnip while slightly tipsy, though to be honest I wrote a lot of this fic slightly tipsy. I still blame Jaskier for the meandering turns that it underwent! 
> 
> Borch: becomes a father  
> Borch: maybe I should get rid of my drugs???  
> Borch: nah, what sort of idiot would just eat a strange plant-  
> Jaskier:  
> Borch: Fuck
> 
> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


End file.
